In San Francisco, summertime fur is not only accepted, but necessary livery. On this Furday night, Stevie (co-worker and new best friend) and I stayed in bingewatching MTV’s Scream and eating chewy Chips Ahoy by the sleeve between mouthfuls of pepperoni pizza from Long Bridge. We exchanged hypotheses over who the killer may be, cackled over the lives of Lakewood’s over-privileged, tech-dependent teenage population, and clenched with suspense watching this cheesy remake that is as awesome as the original(s). Dressed more like Scream, the Rose McGowan version, my outfit is a result of what happens when the work day ends and my clothes resume as my ensemble instead of my uniform. When I put my coat on, let my hair down, and opened the buttons of my thrifted shirt embroidered with the name “Lis,” the ridiculously synthetic bubble gum fur and maribou hair accessory give me a likeness to the flamingos in my favorite $5 tee. Even more so in my peg-legged Judy Garland gingham trousers.
Bridget Tyrrell Vintage 